Chapter 27
Despite not going to bed until well after midnight, I’m wide awake at six A.M. Last night’s revelation is still at the forefront of my thoughts and I plan my day accordingly. At seven A.M. I make several quick phone calls: one to Bjorn to make sure he’s up, ready, and remembers who I am, one to Dairy Airs, one to my brother-in-law, Lucien, and one to Sally Hvam, the owner of the red convertible. I get lucky on the call to Lucien and reach his assistant, Caroline, instead.
“He headed for the courthouse a little bit ago,” Caroline tells me. “Erik Tolliver’s arraignment is later this morning.”
My call to Sally Hvam doesn’t go quite as smoothly.
“Who the hell is this?” she asks in a husky voice, clearly annoyed. There is an underlying grogginess that tells me I have most likely wakened her.
“My apologies if I woke you up,” I start. “But I’m—”
“Of course you woke me up,” she snaps. “What hours do you think bartenders keep anyway?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a bartender.”
“Who the hell are you?”
I introduce myself, explaining that I’m a deputy coroner and that I’d like to ask her some questions about an acquaintance of hers.
“Coroner? Doesn’t that mean you investigate deaths?” she asks, sounding more alert now.
“It does. I’m looking into a murder.”
“Whose?”
“A woman here in Sorenson by the name of Shannon Tolliver. Do you know her?”
“Name doesn’t ring a bell but my bell’s like the Liberty these days. A bit cracked.” She chuckles at her own joke. “Was she the one I heard about who got shot around Halloween?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I suppose I might have served her at some point in my career. The bar I work is a busy place. But I don’t know the woman.”
“She’s not the one I want to ask you about. I’m checking background information on someone the victim was dating, a psychiatrist here in town by the name of Luke Nelson.” When I hear a quick inhalation of air on the other end of the phone, I know I’ve hit pay dirt.
“Oh, yeah, I know him all right. What’s the asshole gone and done now?”
“What do you mean? What has he done before?”
She lets out a deep throaty chuckle that makes me suspect she’s a smoker. “How much time do you have, honey?”
“As much as you need,” I tell her. “How about if I meet with you later this morning so we can talk?”
She hesitates, then says, “I can meet you in a couple of hours, if you want. But you’ll have to come here to Smithville.”
“That’s fine. Do you want to meet somewhere public or should I come to your house?”
She names a small café and gives me directions. After agreeing to meet there at twelve-thirty, I hang up and watch Izzy’s back door through my window, while sipping my coffee. As soon as I see Izzy emerge, I head out to greet him.
“Looking for a ride to the office?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Actually I was wondering if I could take the day to follow up on some things in the Tolliver case.”
“I suppose,” Izzy says, looking pointedly at the empty parking pad beside my cottage. “But how are you going to get around?”
“Bjorn is willing to drive me for now. We worked out a deal. I’m going to need to buy a new car at some point since the other one is totaled, but I have no idea how long it’s going to take to get a check from the insurance company. Plus, there’s a complication.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“The insurance was in David’s name, so the check will go to him.”
“I saw him sitting on your porch last night, waiting for you. Is that why he was here? To discuss the car?”
“Hardly. He was looking for another chance, hinting at reconciliation.”
“And?”
“And I told him I’d give up food first.”
“Ouch,” Izzy says, flinching. “I guess you slammed that door shut for good.”
“I’m glad you see that, but I’m not so sure David does.”
“Time will tell, I guess. Do you think you’ll get into the office at all today?”
“It will be this afternoon if I do. Is that a problem?”
“Shouldn’t be, but take your cell and your pager with you just in case. If I need you I’ll give you a call. Want to share what it is you’re looking into?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. It’s just a theory for the moment. I need to check on some things first.”
The sound of an approaching engine makes us both turn and seconds later Bjorn pulls up. He parks the car, turns off the motor, and climbs out carrying his urine leg bag in one hand and the full bedside bag in the other, the connecting tubing snaking its way out of his trousers.
“I need my sack emptied really bad,” he says, proffering the full bag at me.
Izzy raises a brow, but before he can utter a word I hold my hand up and say, “Don’t ask. It’s part of my cab fare.”
I escort Bjorn inside and into my bathroom, empty the bedside bag, switch him over to his leg bag, and make a mental note to remember to order him the new ones with the easy-open valve.
“Where to today?” he asks me as soon as I have him clamped and ready to go.
“I want to start with Dairy Airs, then the police station, then the hospital, and after that I need to go to Smithville.”
“Pretty full day,” Bjorn says, licking his lips. “I think I need a piece of cheesecake to get me started.”
Cheesecake sounds good to me, too, but if I ate it as often as Bjorn does, I’d end up resembling the body suit Robin Williams wears in Mrs. Doubtfire.
Bjorn seems alert and aware this morning so I let him drive and, thanks to his eagerness for cheesecake, he manages to briefly hit the speed limit on a thirty-five-mile-an-hour street. The two-mile trip only takes a little over seven minutes, darned near light speed for Bjorn. We settle into a booth at Dairy Airs and order our respective items: a decadent-looking slice of turtle cheesecake for Bjorn and a bagel with cream cheese for me. Once again Jackie is our waitress—I knew she’d be working because I’d called earlier—and as soon as she brings our food, I tell her the reason I’m here.
“There’s something about Shannon that’s bothering me and I’m wondering if you can help shed any light on the matter.”
She shrugs, looks a little nervous, and says, “I can try.”
“You mentioned that on the day Erik was here and got hit with the separation papers, Shannon ordered a bunch of food before going home. Is that something she did on a regular basis?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jackie says with a roll of her eyes. “That woman had a truly blessed metabolism. She ate like there was no tomorrow and never seemed to gain an ounce. Maybe it was her stomach problem.”
“Stomach problem?”
“She mentioned once that she had some kind of stomach problem and that was why she spent so much time in the bathroom.” She pauses a moment, thinking. “It did seem like she had to go pretty often, and sometimes she would stay in there for quite a while.”
“Did she usually eat here when she worked, or did she take stuff home with her?”
“A little of both, I guess.”
I thank Jackie for her time and she looks puzzled but relieved when she realizes I’m done questioning her. Apparently Bjorn is puzzled, too.
“How do eating and toileting habits help solve murders?” he asks.